


Fever Gold

by fleurofthecourt



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Competition, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fever, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Yuuri, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9221885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurofthecourt/pseuds/fleurofthecourt
Summary: This cannot be happening.He cannot be sick right now.There's a crowd around him chattering and cheering in at least seven different languages, and an announcer calling him to the center of the rink.





	1. Chapter 1

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s eyes sparkle as the ice reflects against them, and Yuuri feels dizzy. He’d like to say it’s because Viktor is staring at him -- something that he has, truthfully, always found unsettling. But, unfortunately, it’s not that. It’s not that at all. 

He's sick -- definitely, inconveniently sick. 

Possibly Dying. 

Okay, well, probably not dying. 

But he might as well be. 

Because this cannot be happening.

He cannot be sick right now. 

There's a crowd around him chattering and cheering in at least seven different languages, and an announcer calling him to the center of the rink. 

Usually, this is really, incredibly overwhelming for him, and focusing on Viktor and Viktor alone is the only way he can focus on putting one skate in front of the other and tune out everything else that’s going on around him. 

But right now, everything seems fuzzy and distant anyway, like it’s just static background noise, completely irrelevant to him. 

He feels sluggish and far away, like the ice rink isn’t really beneath him, holding him up. 

It's very unsettling. 

But, unfortunately, it’s something he’s just going to have to power through. 

Because being sick right now is simply out of the question. 

He has a Grand Prix final to win. 

Regardless of how the fabric from his costume feels unnaturally hot, tight, and uncomfortable.

Regardless of how unusually wobbly he feels on his skates. 

Regardless of how faint he feels simply from Viktor’s hand squeezing his for luck. 

He’s so close to getting gold. 

And he needs gold. 

Gold is what Viktor wants him to have. 

His short program already has him in first. 

So it’s within his grasp. 

Not easily, perhaps.

But it's possible. 

He just has to outscore... 

Viktor? Yurio? Viktor and Yurio? 

He thinks... 

That seems right... 

He’d kind of started spacing out and dozing somewhere in the middle of his competitors’ free skate performances. 

He’d only made it out to the rink on cue because Yurio had punched him awake and demanded to know how he was going to beat him fair and square if he didn’t even get his ass out on the ice. 

He’d just barely seen the end of Viktor’s free skate -- he’s an absolutely terrible fiancé, sick or not. 

He absently rubs his finger against his ring as Viktor calls his name again. “Yuuri....Yuuri, are you alright?” 

Yuuri shakes his head and tries to meet Viktor’s gaze. Viktor runs his eyes over him with concern before leaning down to kiss his ring. “You’re thinking too much, Yuuri...I want to kiss the gold, but the gold is mine if it is yours or if it is mine.” His eyes gleam brighter somehow as he grins wide. “It’s good that we’re competing together. I have two chances now.” 

Unsurprisingly, Viktor is mistaking his spaciness on nerves and anxiety. 

Certainly some of it is nerves and anxiety. 

He’s under a lot of pressure here really.

But, you know, also, probably, delirious. 

Which has to be what possesses him to passionately declare to Viktor, “I’ll win the gold so we can get married tonight!” 

He feels his cheeks color -- from fever or feeling he’s not entirely sure -- as he leans down to kiss Viktor’s ring before turning for the center of the rink. 

Viktor smiles brightly. “That’s the spirit, Yuuri! I certainly don’t want to marry Yurio.” 

XXX 

Although initially elated, as Yuuri glides seamlessly to the center of the rink, Viktor watches with growing concern. 

He’s used to Yuuri being keyed up with performance anxiety. 

Truthfully, anxious is just generally Yuuri’s state of being. 

So he’s surprised that Yuuri simply let the joke about Yurio go without even a backwards glance. He’d regretted it as soon as he said it, but Yuuri didn’t seem to have even noticed. 

And now, standing in the middle of the ice, he doesn’t look nervous at all. 

In fact, he looks drained, almost like he’s going to nod off before the music starts. 

Which is odd. 

Viktor supposes anyone competing in this would be tired at this point. 

He knows he’s exhausted. 

But Yuuri has more stamina than most. 

(And hasn’t been coaching _and_ competing). 

So something is really off here. 

He just isn’t quite sure what. 

XXX

The first notes of “Yuuri Off Ice” fall on his ears and Yuuri raises his arms to greet them. 

The piece is meant to symbolize how his life has changed outside of skating. Although, he supposes it’s entirely because of skating, he's leading a completely different life than he was at the last Grand Prix. 

He lives in Russia. 

He has a second family. 

He has a fiancé. 

Like a definite fiancé. 

Like he somehow managed to sit Viktor down and tell him the actual initial intent of the matching rings, but also that it was sort of more than okay if the rings became engagement rings. 

And so they did. 

So, in many ways, his life feels like gold now. 

In a way it certainly hadn’t before. 

He closes his eyes as he turns and spins into a triple axel. 

His head may hurt. 

His limbs may feel heavier than usual. 

His muscles may ache more than usual. 

But he certainly can’t let something as trivial as the flu prevent him from marrying Viktor for another whole year. 

There’s a gold mist ahead of him, and he’s going to skate straight into it. 

He doesn’t think; he simply soars. 

XXX 

Viktor has heard “Yuri Off Ice” and seen Yuuri’s performance of it he can’t even count how many times. 

Yet, knowing that most of its inspiration came from his relationship with Yuuri usually leads him to wearing a dopey smile while he watches. It doesn’t hurt, either, that Yuuri usually has a matching one as he daydreams about him in the middle of the piece. 

(Since he knows now that that’s what Yuuri is thinking about; he’d always wondered.) 

Yet, right now, in the middle of the Grand Prix final, Yuuri’s face is slightly flushed, but, otherwise, blank -- seemingly emotionless. 

His performance, so far, is completely gold worthy-- he’s almost jealous of how Yuuri’s landing his jumps -- yet Viktor can’t help feeling there’s something not quite right about it. 

He sees Yuuri on the ice, but he seems, somehow, detached from it. 

XXX 

It’s slightly past the halfway point in his routine when Yuuri really starts to think that he’s made a terrible mistake. 

At the beginning, he seemed to have managed mind over matter; he doesn’t think there was anything noticeably off about his performance. 

But now, the more times he spins, the more times he thinks he’s going to fall flat on the ice and just lie there. 

Because he’s so tired and sore that sleeping with his head against the ice seems perfectly reasonable. He’s not sure that he’d even care that it’s literally freezing. A pillow is a pillow, after all. 

Maybe if he wins the gold, they’ll litter the rink with gold pillows for him instead of giving him a medal. He thinks he deserves that when this ordeal is over. 

Or maybe before. 

He shakes his head and tries to simply picture Viktor. 

He can do this. 

He has to do this. 

XXX 

Viktor watches as Yuuri starts to falter, with a quick frustrated shake of his head, and he suddenly knows what’s wrong. 

Yuuri had been more than a little off all morning. 

He’d been impossible to coax out of bed, which, in itself wasn’t all that unusual, but usually, once Yuuri was up, he was up. 

That hadn’t been the case at all today. 

Victor had taken a jog around the city to ease some of his own pre-competition jitters while Yuuri had somehow managed to fall back asleep at the small table in their hotel kitchenette. 

When he came back, he had all but force fed him a couple bites of the oatmeal he’d fallen asleep next to since he kept claiming he wasn't even a little bit hungry. 

And, really, most of that _could_ be blamed on nerves and jet lag, but Viktor’s almost positive it’s something else. 

Yurio manages to confirm it by muttering angrily about Yuuri sleeping through both of their routines, after all the hard work they’d done together. 

And if Viktor knows one thing about Yuuri, it’s that he’d never sleep in the middle of a competition, and certainly not during his or Yurio’s performances. He cares far too much for that. 

Viktor shakes his head. “Oh Yuuri, you idiot.” 

XXX 

Just a little bit more to the routine now. 

Just a step sequence. 

And a toe loop. 

And a ... 

God. 

Yuuri feels tears of frustration prick at his eyes. 

He can’t remember what comes next. 

A quad flip? 

Followed by a sit spin? 

That seems right. 

Every fiber of his being wants nothing more than to skate to the edge of the rink and climb over it and just be done. 

He’s not sure what made him think this was a good idea. 

It certainly wasn’t. 

XXX 

Yuuri isn’t going to make it through the routine in one piece, Viktor decides, after watching for further signs that Yuuri isn’t alright. 

He keeps blinking, as though he would otherwise be unable to keep his eyes open, his arms and legs are almost visibly trembling from exertion, and there’s a tear track running down his cheek. 

The tear breaks Viktor. 

He has to get Yuuri off the ice. 

He puts no thought whatsoever into his plan. 

He just does it. 

He moves to the closest gate, opens it, and speeds out to Yuuri, thankful he hadn’t had time to take off his skates. 

Yuuri successfully lands a quad flip right in front of him before Viktor places his hand on his shoulder. 

“Viktor?” 

His voice is filled with confusion but also a hint of relief. 

“Why...?” 

Yuuri seems to be straining to fully form his question, and Viktor takes pity on him. 

He brushes Yuuri’s loose hair away from his forehead and runs a hand over it. It is, unsurprisingly, warm. “You’re sick, Yuuri. I’m taking you home.” 

There’s a cacophony around the rink now -- confused announcers and confused spectators _(Viktor Nikiforov is now on the ice -- will this disqualify him from the competition? This is not something we’ve seen here before -- it seems that Yuuri Katsuki will not be finishing his routine; this will likely be reflected in his final score)_ , but Viktor tunes it all out in favor of navigating them to the edge of the rink quickly. 

It’s not quickly enough though, as Yuuri’s weakened body seems to have taken all it can. He stumbles despite Viktor’s grip on his shoulder and slips back. 

Viktor just barely catches him before lifting him up into a bridal carry. 

_(Yuuri Katsuki has fainted! His fiancé, Viktor Nikiforov, is now carrying him off the ice -- that doesn’t look like it’s easy on Viktor.)_

Luckily, the running commentary seems to have given the medical crew a clue as to what was going on. (Which, retrospectively, Viktor realizes, was probably what he should have done in the first place.) 

There’s a stretcher waiting right at the edge of the ice, and Viktor deposits Yuuri on it before moving back to the bench, becoming a helpless spectator once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a better than decent chance that this isn't how ice skating scoring works... suspension of belief...just go with it...

Yuuri lands his quad flip, and immediately regrets it. 

He can't catch his breath, his eyes are watering, making his vision even blurrier than usual, and everything, literally everything, is spinning. 

He’s dizzy and tired and everything hurts. 

He can’t think straight. 

Hell, he can barely stand straight. 

He’s going to collapse right there on the ice; he knows it. 

So he’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating when a welcomingly familiar hand suddenly rests against his shoulder, steadying him. 

His voice shakes. “Viktor?” 

Viktor’s hand is cool and feels wonderful against his burning skin. 

He doesn’t _feel_ like a hallucination, but he can’t be real. Why would he be out here? “Why...?” 

Viktor says he’s taking him off the ice -- saving him from this nightmare -- and Yuuri decides he doesn’t care if he’s real or not. He seems real enough -- real enough to safely collapse against anyway.

So he does. 

He doesn’t really remember anything beyond that. 

XXX 

He’s vaguely aware of being jostled onto something soft before an unfamiliar voice asks him how he feels. He mumbles something -- _tired,_ he thinks -- and, shortly thereafter, a cool cloth is laid on his forehead and a comfortingly warm blanket is laid over the rest of him. 

XXX 

The first thing he’s aware of, the next time he wakes up, is the low static hum coming from a nearby television. 

His head throbs, and lifting his eyelids seems like a lot of effort, so he just listens. 

_Viktor Nikiforov has been disqualified from the event for illegal entry of the ice._

Huh. 

_Nikiforov will, however, be allowed to continue to compete in other competitions._

Odd. 

_Nikiforov will also be accepting the gold medal on his fiancé Yuuri Katsuki’s behalf._

He must only be half awake, still dreaming. 

The TV really isn’t making a lot of sense. 

_The judges, after some debate, chose to score only the completed portion of Katsuki’s routine._

He couldn't have won. 

_Katsuki performed the routine with a low grade fever and several other symptoms of influenza._

Well, that part, at least, sounds accurate.

He shifts slightly and groans as his muscles protest even that small movement. 

_Nikiforov realized something was wrong and immediately tried to move Katsuki from the arena. Katsuki fainted before he was off the ice._

Yuuri tries to digest that information, fails, blinks several times, and tries to sit up. 

_The gold medalist is now resting and expected to make a full recovery._

A large, firm hand pushes him back. “Rest, Yura.” 

He’s even more confused now. He has no idea where he is and, “Yakov?” 

“Vitya and Yura will be back from the medal ceremony soon, and I’m sure they can both scold you for being so stupid much more effectively than I can.” 

Medal ceremony? 

Yuuri tries to sit up again because he wants to know what’s going on. The room spins, and Yakov pushes him back again. “The TV’s across from you. Rest.” 

He fully opens his eyes, finds everything exceptionally blurry, and sighs in resignation. He’ll have to wait until Viktor and Yurio come back then, he supposes. Except, to his relief, Yakov rustles around for a moment before placing his spare glasses next to him. “I forgot; Vitya brought these for you.” 

He breathes a “thank you” before turning to the television. 

There are already three men standing on the three tier podium. On the top is, unsurprisingly, Viktor, then Yurio, then, Phichit. 

He grins brightly. He’s very happy for all three of them. 

He’ll just have to try to get up there himself again next year. 

He can’t imagine he’d be sick like this again; it’d be like lightning striking twice. 

And Viktor had made it pretty clear last year how upset he’d be if he quit. 

As the bronze medal is placed over his neck, Phichit looks slightly dazed. Yuuri imagines he is; he’s never been on that podium before. It's a surreal feeling. 

Yurio, on the other hand, looks more than a little pissed off as he takes the silver. Yuuri almost wants to laugh, but he’s pretty sure he’d regret it. 

There's a lengthy, uncertain pause before the camera pans to Viktor.

_Our final medalist, Yuuri Katsuki, has fallen ill and is unable to attend the medal ceremony. His fiancé, Viktor Nikiforov, is accepting the medal on his behalf.”_

The gold medal is simply handed to Viktor, rather than placed over his head, and a picture of Yuuri himself flashes across the bottom of the screen. 

Yuuri blinks. 

He’s definitely not dreaming now, but this still doesn't make any sense. 

He sits bolt upright. 

“What?!” 

He starts coughing so hard he starts wheezing. 

Yakov comes across the room and awkwardly rubs at his back until the fit stops; they’re both more than a little relieved when it finally does. 

“Yes, Yura, you won. I’m not sure you deserved it; what you did was both dangerous and idiotic. But your performance, Yura, ah, we’ve finally seen what I’ve always wanted to see from you -- what happens when you don’t _think_ so much. It was a thing of beauty, right up to the end. You even fell to Vitya gracefully.” 

He won? 

He really won? 

He's more than a little dazed. 

He just sort of nods, mumbles a ‘thank you’ to Yakov, and slumps back down the pillow. 

Yakov’s voice is stern but far away. “Good. Rest. And, Yura, I never want to see you do something so foolish again. You could have been seriously hurt!” 

XXX 

The next thing he wakes up to is a large, cold weight resting against his upper chest. He realizes, slightly before he hears Yurio, that it’s his medal. 

“Viktor, you idiot, Katsudon already can't breath. Get that off of him.” 

“The press wants a picture of him with it,” Viktor says, in a way that’s simultaneously defensive and apologetic. He still quickly pulls the medal back off. 

“Well, the press can shove it up their ass. It’s not like they don’t know he’s sick. So worry about your boyfriend, not them.” 

Viktor sighs before brushing Yuuri’s bangs away from his eyes. “Sorry, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri reaches for him and slurs, “It’s okay, Viktor. I could breath. I feel better without it though.” 

“Oh, good. He lives,” Yurio mutters. Then he rounds on him, coming closer to the bed, looking absolutely furious. “What were you thinking, Katsudon? Do you have a death wish? You're an absolute moron! Next time we compete, I better not lose to you because you’re so far from thinking straight your brain’s actually frying. You got it?” 

Yuuri sighs. “I'm sorry I worried you, Yuri.” 

“What? I wasn't worried. I'm pissed. But, look, it's not like I totally don't care. I'm glad you're okay, alright? But you better make this up to Viktor. He's kind of a mess over you.” 

Yuuri looks up at Viktor and frowns as he sees Viktor’s eyes are actually watering. He rests his hand against Viktor’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, Viktor.” 

“Oh for the love of god, you two are the sappiest idiots. I’m out of here,” Yurio practically runs out the door. But he stops in the doorframe and shouts back, “But you both better be ready and waiting when I bring my grandfather’s soup over for you later!” 

They both glance at the doorway as Yurio slams the door before turning back to each other. 

Viktor’s eyes are really streaming now. He leans down and pulls Yuuri into a bone crushing hug. “I’m so mad at you, Yuuri, but I’m so mad at myself. Why did you think you needed to do this? Did I make you think you needed to do this? You said you wanted to get married tonight. Did you think you had to do this?” 

There’s a part of Yuuri that thinks exactly that, and there’s a more reasonable and rational part of Yuuri that cups Viktor’s face in his hands and reminds him, “Vitya, I was delirious.” 

“Oh, Yuuri, I never should have said you had to earn gold before we got married. That was too much pressure. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Viktor. It’s okay.” Yuuri reaches for the gold medal that Viktor’s set next to him and laughs, slightly hysterically, trying to break the tension, “Besides, look, I have gold now. Do you want to kiss it?” 

Viktor rubs at his eyes and laughs. “I do.” 

He picks up the medal, glances at it, lets his lips linger over it, then drops it and tilts Yuuri’s head up towards him. He leans down and kisses him firmly. 

Yuuri pulls back and squints at him, “Viktor, what are you doing?” 

Viktor smiles brightly, “Kissing my gold.” 

Yuuri smiles and kisses him back fiercely. 

It only occurs to them, after it’s far too late, that Yuuri is probably contagious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri never learns where he is; poor Yuuri. (He's in the waiting/watching room for the skaters; in my head, since the competition was over, it wasn't being used). 
> 
> Also, I consider this the end, but I might decide to write a short epilogue of them eating Yurio's soup. By which, I mean, I'll probably do it. But I don't know when. 
> 
> Anywho... 
> 
> Readers rock <3 
> 
> Thanks for reading :D


End file.
